


White Collar Dreams

by convexity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Foster Care, Gellert Grindelwald Being Creepy, Guns, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Spanking, Sugar Daddy Graves, kept boy, mary lou mention, no magic, not gun violence just a gun, sugar baby credence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexity/pseuds/convexity
Summary: Wealthy Percival Graves and his live-in college-student sugarbaby, Credence. That's it. With a touch of Gellert Grindelwald being creepy.





	1. Chapter 1

Credence used to hate the winter. It was too long, too cold. The snow made his shoes and pant legs wet and cold and his lips chapped and his fingers numb. Every morning when his alarm clock wrenched him shrilly out of some warm dream he wanted to burrow beneath his covers and close his eyes again.

  
He didn’t find it so much of a nuisance now. Now it just seemed pretty and cozy, like the little house inside the snow-globe he’d shaken in a gift shop once before Ma pulled him sharply aside.

  
Graves drove a sleek black Lexus with cream interior that purred to life a quarter of an hour before they ever left the house. It was already warm and defrosted when Credence slid into the heated passenger seat with his schoolbag by his feet.

Credence watched Graves out of the corner of his eye as he checked the rearview camera to back out of the driveway, switched the Sirius radio from the classical station to the mellow voices of NPR. He liked to watch Graves drive, the way his hands looked on the wheel - his leather driving gloves in winter. He liked the way his eyes looked glancing in the rearview mirror under his heavy brows or when he smiled over at Credence for no reason. If in traffic he braked harder than usual Credence always found himself braced by his reflexive arm from the driver’s side.

  
In the drive-thru Graves lowered the window with a mechanical whir that crunched as melting ice fell from the doorframe to the pavement. Credence shivered at the frigid air that followed. Graves ordered his usual black coffee and turned to Credence, set a hand on his knee.

  
“What’ll it be, baby? Chai?”

  
Credence nodded, adding in a hushed tone so the employee didn’t hear on her headset, “Can I have a muffin too, Daddy?”

  
Graves squeezed Credence’s thigh with his gloved hand. “Is it a chocolate chip or pumpkin kind of day?”

  
“Pumpkin.”

  
Graves winked at him and turned back to the window complete the order.

  
“Warmed, please.” He requested for the muffin.

  
The distorted voice said eleven-fifty through the speaker, making Credence wince. He knew Grave's coffee was only two dollars. Graves gave the girl at the window a twenty and handed the change to Credence. He folded the bills carefully and tucked them into his pocket. Graves always did that when he broke a bill and there was change. Credence had a lockbox in his closet full of cash, and he was always finding it in the pockets of his clothes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, it was just that he didn’t know what to do with it. He’d never had money to spend, and he was at a loss. The best part for him wasn’t even the money, it was the way Graves handed it to him without looking at him, holding it in the air like a lit cigarette until Credence eventually reached out and took it, or slipping it into his hand almost surreptitiously, never looking for acknowledgement.

  
Credence’s classes were mostly in the same building this semester and Graves dropped him off right in front, so he didn’t have to walk across campus much in the cold. Graves still bought him the finest, warmest jackets with the softest lining in charcoal or burgundy or navy.

In the afternoons between American Lit and Ethics he crossed a brick courtyard and settled in the learning commons. There were big chairs in the corners by the window where he could curl up and do his assigned readings or play around on his laptop, the one Graves had got him for his birthday. More often than not when he pulled his phone out of his pocket it was lit with a notification from Graves that he’d smile at before becoming quite aware how foolish he probably looked, glancing around to make sure no one was looking at him.

_-Hey baby - I have to go straight to a meeting after I pick you up. It’s over drinks at the Rockwell ...you are welcome to come along or you can Uber home if you don't feel like it._

Credence balanced his laptop on his knees and typed with his thumbs in the message bar.

_-hi daddy. that's fine but im in schoolclothes - is that ok?_

He checked the time on the top right of his phone screen. 1:25. Graves would probably be on lunch break now or at least not in a meeting. Sure enough a line of text appeared underneath his reply.

_-That’s perfect. Library at 5?_

_-yes sir_

_-Love you honey. Be good._

_-love u too, i will_

Credence sent a postscript of three heart emojis for good measure and locked his phone, put it back in his pocket. He’d broken the last one on accident just a week ago. It had dropped from only a few feet but shattered on impact with the pavement. He’d tried in vain to turn it on, only managing to get alarming little flashes of light to flicker across part of the spiderwebbed screen.

He hadn’t mentioned it to Graves, the old habits of fear and guilt telling him to hide anything bad that ever happened. It wasn’t until Gaves asked why he hadn’t replied to a text that Credence had started to cry. He felt foolish later, but at the time the stress of the mistake was grating. He’d never had anything as nice as this brand new phone. He knew it was expensive and what did he do? Break it. He heard ma in his head as he kicked himself. _Careless, clumsy. Ungrateful_ was his own addition.

  
Graves had been taken aback by Credence’s childish tears, trying very patiently to understand the problem. He’d taken Credence in his arms right there in the kitchen, Patsy Cline crooning away on the bluetooth speakers, a pot of rice bubbling over onto the stove.

  
“What on earth is it, baby?” He’d asked into Credence’s hair, rubbing his back in slow circles. “What happened?”

  
“I broke it,” Credence admitted, lying his temple on Grave’s shoulder but keeping his arms limp by his sides.

  
“What broke, honey?”

  
“The phone.” Credence said miserably, voice tight and strained with tears.

  
“Alright.” Graves said, rocking left to right a little. “It’s a phone. Phone’s break.”

  
Credence had sniffed and pulled away to look at his daddy. The concerned and fond expression he was met with was almost too much for him. He felt his lip tremble like he was going to cry again. Grave’s hands came up to the sides of Credence’s face.

  
“Baby.” He said, “Is that it? Just the phone? There’s nothing else that happened?”

  
Credence shook his head. “I dropped it and it… it just broke.”

  
Graves started to laugh softly, but stopped himself in light of Credence’s misery. Large thumbs began to brush over Credence’s wet cheeks.

  
“We’ll get you a new one tomorrow when the store opens. And a better case. I’ll swing by between your classes and pick you up. We’ll grab lunch together too. Does that sound alright?”

  
Credence nodded and the pot on the stove began to boil over in earnest, each overflow hissing an producing an excess of steam. “Shit,” Graves muttered, turning away from Credence to move the pot to another burner. “Grab me that dishtowel, sweetheart.”

  
And that was it. Forgotten.

  
That incident made him realize how he was still damaged from his foster-homes, the one he’d been at longest in particular, with Ma. He tried to think of how he could have approached that moment differently. What if he just set the shattered phone on the countertop and said 'sorry, I dropped it'? He couldn't imagine it. He knew that’s how other people in his situation would have behaved, he’d seen and heard it enough.

He couldn’t believe the entitlement with which some of them acted, the young lovers of wealthy men with no means of their own. Didn’t they know they were replaceable? Did they not know how tenuous this all was? How if something went wrong it could all be gone in an instant, how they could be standing alone on the sidewalk with a bag full of clothes? Graves provided him a home, food, clothes, money, rides, his cellphone, his college tuition, took him to the dentist when his tooth hurt and needed a fourteen-hundred dollar crown… everything.

  
The phone incident had brought that fear to light. But Grave’s baffled reaction- how trivial he found the broken cell phone- made Credence think he was on more solid ground than he realized.

He’d long thought of his life like a pearl necklace. If the string of the necklace broke all the valuable pearls went scattering irretrievably. But if he tied knots between each pearl, he could lose one without everything collapsing into ruin. Maybe Graves was secured to him- something he would not so easily lose.

  
Graves picked Credence up on campus at five. Credence hurried into the warm interior of the car, put his hands in front of the heat ducts.

  
“Hi,” He said, smiling over at Graves as he made a smooth U-turn and headed back for the main road.

  
“Hey baby.” Graves said, adjusting the heat so it blew warmer. “How was class?”

  
“Good. We’re reading Faulkner in lit.”

  
Graves made a sympathetic face, waited for the stoplight to turn. “He never was my favorite.”

  
“It’s just drinks?” Credence asked. The blinker clicked rhythmically. It was a wintery dusk, powder blues and and pinks, the roads pale from salt.

  
“Just drinks. I get the sense this guy likes to get up to other things with his evenings than business dinners. Which I can appreciate. You and I can eat later somewhere, just us.”

  
Credence dropped his hands from the vents, sufficiently warmed. Brahms played through the speakers on low volume and Credence swirled and tapped his fingers on his thigh to the swells of the music as they rode into downtown, decked with lights and boughs of fir and red bows for the holidays.

  
Credence was grateful there was valet parking, so they only had to step out and head for the door. Graves put his hand on the small of Credence’s back as they walked, opened the door for him to a flight of stairs going into a basement. They descended, bypassing the hostess at the bottom of the stairs when Graves motioned they were going to the bar. Credence was steered toward a large marble bar-top with high black stools and decorative glass lights that hung low from the ceiling. Graves pulled out a bar stool for Credence before his own.

  
Credence was immediately distracted by a long menu while Graves scanned the bar for the man he was supposed to meet, pulled up his sleeve to check his Rolex.

  
“It’s one thing to be late, and another to be late when you set the meeting time,” Graves said quietly to Credence, who smiled over at him knowingly. He liked when he came along to these sorts of things. Graves always spoiled him silly and acted like they were the only two in on some private joke.

  
“Alright, what’s got your eye?”

  
Credence pointed to the menu.

  
“Excellent choice.” Graves said that no matter what he pointed at, Credence had come to realize.

  
Graves nodded at the bartender, a man in his late thirties who looked somehow both polite and bored.

  
“Johnny Walker, rocks, and a…” He leaned back over to glance at the menu again. “A frozen strawberry margarita, please. Sugar rim.”

  
Credence waited for the man to ask to see his ID, which he had taken out of his school bag and put in his pocket. The bartender looked at him for a moment, hesitated, glanced back at Graves and changed his mind. That was usually how it went when he was with Graves. They either figured he was over twenty-one or decided if he wasn’t it wasn’t worth losing business.

  
“Percival?”

  
Credence glanced up. A man had come in without their noticing. He was dressed similarly to Graves in a fine suit and jacket, maybe of a height as well, blond, 45 or 50. Graves stood to shake his hand.

  
“Gellert, so glad you could make it.”

  
Credence recognized the jab at the man’s tardiness and suppressed a wry grin, feeling the joke was just for him.

  
“Traffic in this city is absurd.” The man commented, taking a seat next to Graves and pulling gloves from his hands. Credence hadn’t realized he was foreign till he heard the slight accent.

  
“Public transportation is not… very up to par here, is it?”

  
Graves shrugged. “It’s been a long time since Johnson… there’s been a bit of backslide with the past few administrations in that department.”

  
“You don’t say.”

  
Credence was glad Graves was a little irritated, because he skipped the introductions that Credence always found awkward at these sort of things. He was content to just sit back and listen like a fly on the wall. The bartender returned with their drinks. The blond man said something to the bartender, who headed to the shelf again.

  
Credence picked the fat strawberry from where it was skewered on the rim of his glass and bit into it. Little orange crystals of sugar came with it, making it sweeter than it ought to be. Credence watched the bartender pour a clear liquid into a rocks glass, wondered what kind of money he made in a night. His suspected his concept of money was skewed. He knew what it was to have none, and to have a lot, and understood nothing of the in between where the majority of people lived their lives.

  
“My colleagues may not agree with me, but your lobbyists do. I believe there is something of value to be gained from working with the States in this.” The man was saying.

  
“How considerate of you.” Graves replied dryly. Credence could tell Graves did not like this man.

  
Neatly, he discarded the top of the strawberry on a white bar napkin and leaned in to sip from his straw. Frozen, fruity sweetness met his tongue first, followed by only a very mild sting of tequila. Already a little bored, he pulled out his phone and checked to see if the Biology exam grades had been posted yet. Nada. He and Graves had a bet. He was now ironically kind of hoping he’d gotten under 90% on it so he would win. He swirled his straw around the pink slush, tilted his head to watch the two men beside him while he took a long sip.

  
“I’m not talking next year,” The blond man swas saying, the thin smile on his lips reminding Credence of the smile televangelists wore, the ones that ma used to watch all day on a little rabbit-eared TV in the kitchen. “I’m talking next quarter. Before midterms.”

  
Graves took a sip of his drink. His words were measured. “I did not get where I am by being reckless. The ones I knew who did are in prison now.”

  
The bartender dropped off a glass in front of the man, who did not acknowledge it.

  
“I’m not suggesting recklessness. Just a little entrepreneurial spirit.”

  
“And I’m suggesting you take that spirit to Salinger, or Thurmond, try your luck there. They’ve always been a few clowns short of a circus.”

  
Credence sensed the barely-veiled hostility from Graves and wondered what he had missed. He’d never heard him so close to rudeness. He sipped a little faster, in case Graves paid the tab early and told him it was time to go. Instead he stood to take a phone call, which he normally would never do in a meeting, but something told Credence he considered this one over. Graves turned to him, held up a finger. _One minute._ Credence nodded. Graves put the phone to his ear and walked back to the stairwell entrance where the jazz band in the dining room was less audible. Credence moved to pull his phone out again.

  
“Percival didn’t introduce us.” The man said, taking Graves seat beside him. Credence looked up, slid his phone back in his coat pocket.

  
“Gellert.” He said, offering Credence his hand. Politely, Credence took it.

  
“Gellert Grindelwald.”

  
“Credence.” He replied, offering nothing for a surname. _Barebone_ had a hollow sound to it now, but only in his most private fantasies did he whisper the name _Credence Graves._ Reluctantly, the man let go of Credence’s hand and Credence pulled it back to his lap.

  
“You’re not his son, are you?” Gellert asked, like they were the ones sharing the private joke now.

Credence raised his chin a little. Graves never introduced Credence as his lover at these sorts of things, but never denied it either. _They can only use a thing against you if you are trying to hide it_ , he told Credence once. _People will always talk, but if you let them know you don’t care that’s all it will ever be- talk._

“No.” Credence answered the man. “I’m not.”

  
He laughed quietly at that. “I didn’t think so. That’s a very nice coat you’ve got.”

  
Credence flinched as the man opened his coat a little, revealing Credence’s sweater underneath. He slid his thumb over the fabric.

  
“Cashmere.” He said, as if quite impressed. Credence glanced to the entrance but couldn’t see Graves.

  
“Yeah.” He said lamely, feeling heat on his cheeks. The man’s gaze was uncomfortable, made him squirm. He felt sweat prick his neck and underarms.

  
“Listen, my boy. He doesn’t want to hear it yet, but I have a way to make your Daddy twice as rich, and three times as influential.”

  
Credence blanched at that word in this man’s mouth. Their private term.

  
“So do you think you could be an angel and just hang onto this?” He reached into his own coat this time and produced a white business card, held it between them like a flag of truce.

  
“Why?” Credence asked suspiciously.

  
“Because by the time Percival realizes that he’s made a terrible mistake and wants to correct it, I’m sure he will have deliberately lost my contact information. You could speed things along for him by giving him this, when it happens. I’m sure he’ll be very grateful if you gave it to him. He might even buy you a puppy. Or some blow. Whatever twenty year olds are into these days.”

  
“I’m twenty-three.” Credence said stubbornly. “And we don’t talk about his work.”

  
“Oh, I bet.” He let his unnerving gaze rove over Credence’s whole body. His heart began to lurch and pound uncomfortably.

  
“But trust me. You’ll know.”

  
Credence didn’t like how he found himself believing that, whatever it meant. Not at all.

  
He snatched the card from the man's fingers and pocketed it next to his phone, hoping it would make him go away. Gellert hummed approvingly and tucked a lock of stray dark hair behind Credence’s ear. Credence froze. He should bat his hand away... they were in a public place, he couldn't retaliate... And Graves was thirty feet away. But he didn't. He couldn’t move. Gellert retracted his hand, not without deliberately sliding his knuckles across Credence’s cheek first.

  
“Don’t forget.” He said lightly, standing from Grave’s chair and pulling a crisp fifty out of his wallet. He set it on the bartop and walked back toward the stairwell, never having touched his drink. Credence turned back to the bar. He put his elbows on the edge so he could hold his head in his hands, his sugary drink melting in front of him, making him feel queasy.

  
Graves came back a few moments later.

  
“Credence, you okay?”

  
“Yeah.” He said a little too quickly. “That guy left some money, I think for the whole tab.”

  
Graves eyes fell on the fifty and his expression soured in annoyance. “And then some. Asshole. C’mon. Let’s go.”

  
Credence scrambled out of his chair, ready to be out of this stupid basement already.

  
The valet pulled the Lexus around and Credence climbed in, not caring if the seat was still cold. Graves took the keys and they headed back to the sprawling, peaceful northside.

  
“You alright?” Graves asked him after they’d merged onto the interstate, doing a smooth eighty.

  
“Yeah. That guy was just weird.”

  
Credence was staring at the red tail-lights of the car ahead of them but he saw Graves turn his head in his peripheral vision. “Did he say something to you?”

  
“I mean…” Credence fidgeted with the sleeve of his sweater. “He was just weird. He...implied that he knew we weren’t father and son or anything…Like really implied it.”

  
Graves was completely silent. Credence knew that to be far worse than if he’d said something back. Timidly, he looked over. He could see Grave’s jaw working as he stared straight ahead at the road. His leather gloves made a creaking sound as he adjusted his grip on the wheel.

  
“You want to tell me what he said?”

  
Credence faltered. “I mean... it wasn’t a big deal.. I don’t remember it verbatim. It was just weird.”

  
“Did he touch you?”

  
Credence flinched. So measured, so calm. He couldn’t lie. Not only did he not want to, but he was never convincing enough for Graves, especially when he was serious like this. It turned him into putty.

  
“He touched my coat for a second and… my face.”

  
Graves turned to look at him this time. “He touched your _face_?”

  
“I told you..weird.” Credence’s heart was beating like it had in the moment when the man had touched his hair.

  
“I was around the corner,” Graves said slowly, enunciating every syllable. “For three minutes, tops. I have the call log on my phone. And that son of a bitch is saying things like that to you and presuming to touch you?”

  
“I didn’t.. I was looking at my phone, I swear, I-”

  
“No, no. I’m not blaming you, Credence.” Graves said, the most emphatically Credence had heard him say anything in a long time. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m just... That’s..So far out of the fucking realm of acceptable. Just because I turned down his absolutely batshit insane offer. I never should have let you out of my sight.”

  
Credence sat silent, worrying his hands. _There's knots on the string_. He told himself. _You won’t lose everything at once just because one thing breaks._

  
They rode the last five minutes home in silence. Credence shouldered his school bag and trudged up to the front door which Graves had unlocked with his phone, turned on all the lights. In the kitchen, he let it drop to the side and hung up his coat. Graved kicked snow off each boot with the other foot. Credence thought maybe he should just disappear for a while, go upstairs or something, get out of the way. Another old habit.

  
“Where are you going?”

  
Credence froze in the doorway and shrugged.

  
Graves hooked two fingers at him. _Come here_.

Credence walked on stocking feet to stand in front of him like he was going to the gallows. Graves put his hands on Credence’s shoulders.

  
“Are you sure you’re alright?” He said gently, focused on Credence again instead of his own indignation.

  
Credence nodded. “Yeah. Nothing bad happened.”

  
“I know, but it’s off-putting. I need to make sure you’re alright, baby, that’s my job.”

  
Credence smiled at the floor between them, swaying playfully under his grip. Graves pulled him closer, kissed him on the lips. Credence thought he could still taste the familiar Johnny Walker on his lips, bringing with it a deluge of sweet memories.

  
“ _No one_ touches you without your permission.” Graves said seriously. “Not even the hem of your coat.”

  
Credence nodded. Graves looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

  
“You haven’t eaten since this morning, have you?”

  
“No.” Credence admitted.

  
“How about we order some really unhealthy takeout and watch a scary movie?”

  
“Yes Daddy.” Credence agreed with a little smile, his nerves settling back to normal.

Grave ruffled his boy’s hair affectionately. “You want Chinese or pizza?”

Credence had forgotten, for the moment, all about the little rectangular paper in his coat pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

Credence had a room across the hall from Grave’s with a desk, a closet full of clothes, and a large mirror affixed to a dresser. On his dresser were colognes that he'd discovered he liked when shopping with Graves one day, Bvlgari and Dior next to a little wooden box of keepsakes. Mostly it was ticket stubs from movies and plays, sometimes a restaurant receipt that evoked a particular night in his memory.

Graves had a habit of leaving him notes sometimes insead of just texting, and Credence had saved every one. He took them out occasionally, ran his fingers over the bold C of his own name at the top in Grave's slanting cursive. _Credence,_ they always started. _Hope you slept in. Croissants from Kowalski's in the breadbox. See you tonight. Love you. -P._

The linens on his double bed were washed weekly and re-made with tight hospital corners by the cleaning service Graves employed, but never disturbed inbetween. Since the beginning he always slept in Grave’s bed.

Credence liked Grave’s room. He liked how tall the king size bed was, like a liferaft separating him from the dark waters of the world when he was in it. He could sleep with his arms stretched up to the headboard and a leg kicked out to the side and never touch an edge. More often than not he fell asleep in Grave’s arms and woke up stretched out on the other side of the bed.

“Like a cat in a sunbeam,” Graves told him fondly early on, scratching under his chin as if he were indeed a cat, making Credence wrinkle his nose when he smiled. “Unless you decide to migrate back my way. Then you’re like an invasive species.”

He let his mouth fall open in offended shock. “I am not.”

Graves raised his eyebrows and nodded that he was. “A pushy little hellcat.”

What Graves didn’t mention in the light of day were the nightmares Credence still had. He’d wake panting in sheets damp with his own sweat. Sometimes Graves could soothe him back into sleep by rubbing a hand up and down his back, anchoring him to reality, to the present. Other times he had to go downstairs, make a cup of tea and sit at the marble countertop, pondering the fragrant steam and the witching-hour blackness outside the kitchen windows.

The first time Graves had followed him down. He’d been able to read Credence’s body language and moods from the very beginning, and quickly realized he was not wanted or needed in that trance-like state Credence went to when trying to shake a nightmare.

“You know where to find me.” He’d said quietly, bending to kiss Credence’s dark hair before going back to bed.

Credence would climb the stairs eventually, crawl back into bed from the bottom and sleep the remaining two hours he had left before Grave’s alarm went off.

Graves never asked about any of it, not when Credence had three interrupted nights of sleep in one week or when he’d first seen the silver scars that ran laterally over Credence’s palms or when he’d had a panic attack over a broken cup. Credence waited for him to ask, to get frustrated, but he did neither. As grateful for that as he was, part of him wanted Graves to know. _Just not yet,_ he told himself as weeks turned to months. _Not yet._

“I have access to some of the best doctors on the East coast, Credence,” was as close to directly mentioning it as he’d ever gotten. “Psychiatrists, too, very good ones. Just say the word, I’ll make you an appointment.”

He sensed there was no pressure behind the offer. Graves didn’t even seem to mind Credence’s strange behaviors or occasional skittishness. Credence told him he’d been a ward of the state until he turned eighteen. That much was inevitable because he had no family, and no support system when they had met.

Credence held onto Grave’s offer like a box he didn’t know if he wanted to open. On one hand he wanted to be more normal, wanted help. On the other he was afraid of opening it, of the terrible things that might come flying out. He didn’t want his past on a cold slab with its ribs peeled back, each hateful year inspected like an organ in it’s own Canopic jar.

Ma was the calcified heart of it all, but the state facility where child services had dumped him first was the diseased circulatory system, an ulcer in his stomach. The kids there had been especially vicious, hardened at tender ages by poverty and bad luck, by systematic under-privilege. Thirteen and painfully quiet, Credence had been nothing but fresh meat when he'd been thrust among the city's other miscellaneous minors. The worst of them picked up on it immediately. It seemed to excite them, like sharks smelling blood in the water. He’d been tripped, pinched, mocked, and jumped by three older boys in the first week alone. To this day he could not step foot the University cafeteria. The antiseptic smell of waxed linoleum mixed with too many bodies, too many voices, too many fluorescent lights made him want to bolt for the exit.

After almost a year his overloaded caseworker took him to a McDonalds where there was an incessant plethora of high-pitched beeps and screaming children on a plastic jungle gym. He was never alone, and there was always too much _noise_. He tried to imagine he was in the woods, all alone with naught but fecund smelling earth and birch trees surrounding him. Sometimes it worked. More often than not it wasn’t strong enough to shut out reality.

His caseworker sat with Credence’s open file in front of her, scratched a note in the margins, circled something. "Good news," she’d said. "I found you a placement. Good, Christian folk."

Later that week he’d been driven in the caseworker’s car to a modest suburban home in a long, identical row of modest suburban homes. Mary-Lou talked with the woman at the kitchen table while Credence stood awkwardly, sipping the Pepsi his caseworker had given him out of her purse.

“No more of that nonsense”, Mary-Lou said sharply when the caseworker left, tossing the Pepsi pointedly into the trash bin. Her first words to her foster son. It would be four years before Credence would walk out of her front door for the last time. _Eighteen and out,_ the kids at the state facility used to say like a mantra. _Eighteen and out..._ He thought. _But I’m only fourteen._

There was a mental barrier like a fault splitting the earth that kept Credence from talking too much about it with Graves. His new life was comfortable, filled with warmth and luxury and affection. It was everything he’d ever wanted and then some. He didn’t want to let the ugliness and loneliness of those years be the yardstick by which the rest of his life was measured.

Sometimes in his most private thoughts he imagined what his life could’ve been like if his caseworker had brought him here that day instead, if by some miracle Graves had been his placement home. It was an indulgent fantasy. He knew Graves would have been thoughtful, lenient, and kind. It made him ache. But Credence also knew had that been the case, he would have been like Grave’s son from an early age, never could be his kept boy, couldn’t share his bed or let those hands he loved so much touch his bare skin and wake every dormant thing inside him, light him up inside with desire. He wouldn't give that up for anything. Not even how badly he’d needed Graves all along. 

The first time Graves had touched him, Credence was shaking so badly he thought he might fall apart. Mistaking his nerves for hesitation, Graves had retracted his hands.

“No,” Credence protested. He’d reached out and brought them back. “Please.”

Graves had touched him in ways that made him sigh and arch his back, again and again. Soon Credence realized with the clear ring of epiphany that he could touch, too. He’d still assumed that he was going to be discarded soon, that this was but a glimpse into the life of someone he could never have. But Graves never stopped seeing him. Their meeting became more frequent, longer each time. Graves took him to dinner and then invited him home for a movie and hot apple cider. He woke in Grave’s arms, realizing he’d dozed off and the credits were rolling. He began to mentally prepare to go back to his shared apartment, with only a space heater to warm him on his Walmart air-mattress.

“Stay.” Graves said warmly, and that single word had called to Credence across a great expanse of loneliness, years of homesickness with no home to miss. And the next night the same. _Stay_. Until there was no more need, because it was clear that Credence was not going anywhere. Graves gave him an envelope with two month’s rent in cash to give to his roommate for the short notice. _You don’t want any trouble,_ he’d said.

And just like that, he was Grave’s.

One night in bed, Graves had swatted his backside in jest with a smile, only noticing afterward how Credence had stilled and postured for more.

“You like that? You didn’t tell me.”

 _Among the other things I haven't._ Credence thought. He didn’t know why it appealed to him so much. He’d thought of it before, it kept turning up in his thoughts for a week straight. He wanted Graves to hold him down or to strike his bare skin deliberately until it reddened and hurt. It didn’t make any sense. Graves gentleness was one of Credence’s favorite things about him. So why did he want Grave's controlled, calm air of authority in a new context? _Because you’re messed up_ , he told himself, _and it's all you know._ But Graves didn’t seem opposed like Credence was afraid he might.

“Does someone need a good spanking?” He asked playfully. Credence nodded, less playful. He crawled over Grave’s lap on the bed and put his cheek against the soft blanket.

“These won’t do.” Graves said, tugging Credence’s university sweatpants by the waistband. Credence lifted his hips, a little jolt of excitement going through his body. Graves pulled them till they were around his knees, caressed Credence’s naked skin with a broad palm.

“I won’t be rough.” He said, meaning to reassure. Credence wished he hadn’t. Nothing could ruin his immersion, though, not now.

The first slap echoed off the bedroom ceiling and stung. He found himself imagining he really had been brought to Graves when he was young and this was a punishment for something he had done, some little rule he’d broken. There was no state facility with its noise and its bullies and a cot that smelled of bleach, there was no Ma wielding self righteousness in the form of the belt that had broken his skin so many times. There was just this abundant attention, the safe feeling of being over Grave’s lap and punished tenderly like a spoiled child. He felt high from this fantasy, his taboo make-believe.

Graves knew none of this, Credence realized, and was just indulging what he thought was a common, harmless fantasy. Credence whimpered guiltily as controlled, smacking blows came down over his bare behind, the backs of his thighs. Graves paused to knead his burning skin.

“Daddy,” Credence mewled pitifully. Surprised at himself and more than a little mortified, he screwed his eyes shut. He’d never called Graves as such.

“Daddy’s right here, baby.” Graves said, voice huskier than before. “I've got you.”

 _Oh_ , Credence thought. _He's going along with it._

“More, Daddy.” Credence begged in a whisper.

“More?”

He nodded against the blanket. Graves slapped him again, abusing the sensitive flesh a little harder now. He still pretended he was a luckier version of his former self, a beloved pseudo-son being firmly corected. It was innocent until it wasn't. He was getting hard under this dubious attention and had to shift his hips. It felt more illicit than any time before. This pain felt different than all the pain he'd known, almost sweet. A small consolation he could offer his younger self. It was easy to give in - he trusted Graves with his whole being. He pressed his erection against Grave's thighs as his backside stung and burned.

He made muffled little sounds of pain and pleasure into the blankets until Graves decided he’d had enough. He pulled a limp Credence into his arms, crooning in his ear, taking his aching cock into his hand and working him steadily until he came onto his belly. His whole body felt floaty and scoured clean in a good way, bereft of something he’d been holding with his shoulders that was far too heavy. It felt as if a balm had been applied from this moment backward into the past, soothing the festered hurt that sometimes threatened to infect the present.

He hid his face in Grave’s neck so he would not see that he was crying.


	3. Chapter 3

Credence was on his way to the Learning Commons, hoping his favorite spot was unoccupied. It was a bright February afternoon and he had an hour to kill between classes. The January snows were dwindling in the unseasonable warmth, dripping in constant streams from trees and the roofs of buildings. He was watching his step - the walkways were cleared after each storm but the melting snow banks caused slush to pool under his feet. If he stepped carelessly it made lines of salt appear on his good shoes like chalk.

He heard his name and paused to look up in surprise to see someone in his path, not more than a yard from him. His heart sank. It was the man from the bar.

A familiar pale gaze met Credence’s and he faltered - opening his mouth to speak but saying nothing. _What was he doing here?_

“I thought that was you.” The man said. _Grindelwald_ , Credence’s mind supplied. He remembered only the strange surname from the card.

“I didn’t realize you were a student.”

“Yes, Sir.” Credence said, trying deliberately to be as stiff and formal as possible. His mouth felt dry.

“The Dean and I go way back, as the say.” Grindelwald explained, standing in the middle of the walk and blocking Credence’s path. “He was kind enough to invite me to be a guest speaker while I’m in the city. It’s a fine school, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Credence agreed. “It’s really nice. I’ll uh, I’ll make sure to go to it.” He tried in vain to skirt around and be on his way. It only took him closer, though, giving Grindelwald a chance to reach out and pin him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You just missed it, I’m afraid.” The hand held him fast. He froze underneath the touch, like he had in the bar. “Now I’m trying to find a cafe for a little break but I’m not sure where any are.” He gestured around them with his other hand like the campus was particularly large or confusing. “You wouldn’t happen to have a minute, would you?”

“There’s one in Hawthorne.” Credence said with a heavy tongue, feeling like someone else was speaking with his mouth.

“Which would be very helpful if I knew where that was. Be a doll and show me? I’ll buy you anything you like for the trouble.”

Credence felt him slip a finger under the brown leather strap of his satchel bag and slide it from his shoulder. He made a grab at it but it was too late.

“I _thought_ this looked heavy. Not good for your posture.” Grindelwald fixed it over his own shoulder and Credence bristled. He was very self-conscious about his posture, which he’d improved on tremendously since moving out of Ma’s.

“I’ll carry it for you until we get there.” His smile was friendly, warm even.

Credence felt like he was being marched as he led them to a long brick building with melting icicles jutting from the gutters like crooked teeth. Inside there was a little Starbucks cafe that wasn’t nearly as crowded as he’d hoped.

“Sit.” Grindelwald said. “What would you like?”

Credence shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll surprise you, then.” He said, going off to the counter with Credence’s bag, and therefore his laptop, phone, and wallet. Credence sat at a table and waited, feeling like a hostage. Grindelwald returned with two paper cups, sat opposite him and stretched one leg out so that it brushed Credence’s. He jumped and tucked his feet under his chair. His bag sat just out of easy reach on the table, close to Grindelwald.

“Drink up. You look like you could use a sugar rush.”

Credence put his hands around the cup but didn’t lift it from the table.

“So, hows Pops?” Grindelwald asked, deliberately inelegant.

“He’s well.” Credence said quietly.

“Good.” Grindelwald sipped his drink and set it down. “It really is a shame you missed the lecture. I think you would have liked it.”

“I had class.” Credence toyed with the cardboard sleeve on his cup. He could see Grindelwald was watching him in his periphery.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your education. You need your degree. Daddy might not always be around to make everything so cushy.”

Credence shot him a look. “Can I have my bag, please?”

Grindelwald ignored him. “Although looking like you do, you wouldn’t have any trouble finding a replacement. You could probably have your pick...wait for the highest bidder.”

Credence dropped his eyes. He thought he’d been mocking of his relationship when they first met, but now he wasn’t so sure. It seemed like an oblique sort of jealousy, like he wanted to poke at it to see what Credence did.

“Percival is waiting for me to call him.” He lied, trying to keep his voice casual. “If I don’t call in the next few minutes he’ll be worried.”

Grindelwald laughed. “Will you relax? I’m not going to kidnap you. I’m trying to have a cup of coffee with you. Drink.”

Credence lifted the cup. It wasn’t coffee, but sweet, milky Chai. Just what he liked. Credence thought that a strange coincidence.

“You ever been overseas, Credence?”

Credence shook his head.

“Most Americans rarely leave home. It’s why their worldview is so… skewed. You seem like a bright boy. I think you’d really benefit from it. It’s a big wide world out there.”

 _I’ve seen plenty of the big wide world,_ he thought. _Enough to know the sort of people it’s full of and how it works_.

“I don’t normally offer this to American students, but I could get you an internship that would really open doors for you. Even if it’s not on the university’s program…” He spread his hands. “I did mention that I am old friends with the Dean, didn’t I? Which sounds more appealing, Zurich or London?”

Credence’s phone began to buzz, muffled inside his bag. He made to reach across the table for it but Grindelwald was faster. He rummaged in Credence’s things to fish it out, sliding his thumb across the screen to accept the call. Credence retracted his hand.

“Percival!” He said genially, like they were old friends, too.

“Gellert, that’s right. I was just on campus for a lecture and I happened…” He paused, clearly interrupted. “He’s right here.” He winked at Credence. “We’re taking a little break together. Charming boy you’ve got, I didn’t have the chance to tell you be-… Of course. Here he is.”

Credence nearly snatched the phone out of Grindelwald’s hand when he offered it to him. He watched Credence raise it to his ear with a rather self-satisfied smile.

“Hi.” Credence said quietly, as if Grindelwald wasn’t going to hear everything he said.

“Credence, where are you right now?” Graves asked, voice steady but tinged with urgency.

“School.” Credence replied. “I… ran into Mr Grindelwald and he was kind enough to buy me a drink.”

“I’m not on speaker, am I?”

“No.”

“Credence, I want you to get away from him. Find a crowd. Walk into any lecture and sit down, whatever you need to do. And don’t you dare worry about being polite.”

“Uh-huh.” He agreed, unable to say that Grindelwald had been holding his belongings casually hostage. “I will.”

“And you call me the minute you do. Not text, _call._ You understand? I’ll be waiting.”

“Okay.” He said lightly as if they were discussing dinner plans. He had a feeling his act wasn’t fooling Grindelwald in the least.

“I mean it, Credence. Right now.”

Graves never spoke to him this way. He knew it was because of his mistrust of Grindelwald, but still he felt chastised.

“Okay.” He said again. “Bye.”

He hit End and started to stand up.

“I gotta go,” He said apologetically. “I’m gonna be late for class.”

Grindelwald stood too. To his dismay he shouldered the bag again. “I’ll walk you.” He said.

Credence pocketed his phone. At least he had that. He led the way out of the building and made a left on the slushy walkway. “I think you and I have a lot to talk about, Credence.” He said casually, half a step behind him. Credence was trying to guess how many steps it would take to reach the next building. Forty? Sixty?

“Percival and I got off on the wrong foot. Which is a shame, really. But you and I don’t need to do the same. I know you two don’t discuss our line of work, but it might be something you’re interested in. You already have a foot in the door with me, if not with him.”

“I haven’t even declared a major.” Credence said, trying to deter him. “I’m just taking my core classes to see what I like.” Grave’s words, said to encourage him when he was hesitant to even enroll, but Credence had parroted them back at anyone who asked what he wanted to do for so long they came out rehearsed and automatic.

Credence stopped outside the building where his ethics class met. He would have liked to go right in the front doors but Grindelwald still had his bag. He waited.

“Even better.” Grindelwald smiled at him affectionately. “You’re still so young. Nothing’s quite decided yet.”

He reached a finger under Credence’s chin, forcing him to look up so he could study him. “It could go either way.”

Credence became aware this man possessed many of the same qualities as Graves. Influence, money, that calm air of authority that made people sit up straighter when they entered a room. Something in his gaze made Credence feel desired, too, but it was different, a strange mirror image of how Graves looked at him.

Grindelwald let him go. He handed him his bag. “Go ahead.” He said, nodding toward the building like he knew Credence wanted to bolt. Formalities abandoned, Credence didn’t even mutter a goodbye. He turned and pulled the door, heading straight for the men’s room.

He leaned against the sinks and took a shaky breath. Only once his heart had retreated from his throat did he press the phone icon next to Grave’s contact.

***

Graves picked Credence up at five. Credence had assured him on the phone he was fine, he didn’t need to leave campus early. And he was fine. He’d even drunk the rest of the stupid Chai Grindelwald bought him. He didn’t want to waste it. Plus it was his favorite.

It had gotten colder as evening approached. Normally Graves wasn’t phased by traffic, but tonight it irritated him. A Toyota in front of them tried to merge into the turning lane. Immediately the line of cars to the right stopped again and the Toyota got stuck halfway, blocking them from moving with the flow of traffic.

“Are you fucking-?” Graves blared the horn for a shrill two seconds and Credence flinched. “This idiot.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Graves looked over at him. His expression softened. “No. God, no, baby.”

He reached a hand over to Credence’s where it lay on his lap. Credence unfurled his fingers and let them intertwine. Graves gave him an almost sheepish smile and rocked their hands back and forth.

“I’m just find it fascinating that out of every school in this county, this city even, Herr Douchebag finds himself at yours, and better yet ‘runs into you’. Twenty-thousand students and he runs into _you_?”

“He was giving some kind of guest lecture.” Credence shrugged, though he’d explained twice already. Graves seemed to suspect it had been deliberate, but Credence thought that was a stretch. What could Grindelwald possibly with him that badly?

“He was just talking to me about the study abroad program or something.” He said dismissively. That was only half true, and an omission.

“You want to study abroad?” Graves asked.

“No!” Credence said quickly. He would rather shoot himself in the foot than be parted from Graves for two months or God forbid a whole semester. The thought filled him with a dread like icy water. “No. I don’t want to go anywhere. Except home.”

“Good.” Graves squeezed his hand. “I mean I wouldn’t stop you,we could certainly… arrange it easily enough. But good.”

Early on, the night of the broken cup incident, Credence’s gnawing feelings of inadequacy and knee-jerk reaction to making mistakes had come to an inevitable head. He’d hyperventilated and cried and Graves had talked him down, sat with him on the kitchen floor with jagged pieces of ceramic all around them until Credence was breathing normally and wiping his eyes and nose, sniffing.

Then Graves had pulled him to his feet, taken him upstairs and drawn a hot bath for him, played him some music.

“I don’t have any rose petals on hand,” he’d apologized with a little smile, lighting a single candle and placing it on the lip of the tub so the light danced off the dark tile. “But this will make you feel better.”

It did. Credence lowered himself as far as he could in the water. The room was dark but for his candle and the LED screen of Grave’s phone next to the speaker. He’d taken deep breaths, feeling the steam in the air fill his lungs. The music gave his mind something to focus on, which was the only thing that helped him when he was like this. It was unhurried, a woman’s voice that sounded almost like one of the instruments vocalizing in a wordless language that called to some ancient region of his brain, quieted his more conscious thoughts. Her voice dipped under and over the melodies like a lullaby.

He’d looked to see what it was later, wrapping a towel around himself, careful not to let water drip from his hair onto the screen. Now it was his go-to.

Tonight he lit no candle but submerged himself under the water to listen to the music. The sound waves reached his ears distorted, even more beautiful. He thought he understood the legends of sailors following Siren’s songs until they dashed their ships headlong into the rocks. He stayed in until his hands and feet began to prune and wrinkle.

Graves was getting ready to watch TV in bed when Credence padded in barefoot in sweatpants, towel-dried hair still damp and clinging to his forehead. “Hey,” Graves said, patting the bed beside him.

“C’mere. I want to show you something.”

Credence crawled up to join him propped up against the pillows. Graves leaned over to his nightstand and opened the drawer, pulled out a sleek revolver. Credence shied back an inch before he could catch himself. He looked from the gun to Graves.

“It’s alright.” He said gently. “It’s unloaded.”

He clicked something with his thumb, tilted his hand 45 degrees. The cylinder fell open. He rotated it so Credence could see the empty chambers. With a flick of his wrist the cylinder snapped back into place.

“Here.” Graves said, holding it out to Credence by the hardwood grip. Credence reached out gingerly. When Graves let go his hand dipped with the revolver’s surprising weight. It was cool to the touch and kind of pretty, silver and shiny as new money in that unmistakable, lethal shape.

“I thought you didn’t like guns.” Credence said, handing it back like a coiled snake.

“I don’t.” Graves said, putting it back in the drawer and closing it. “But they have undeniable utility.”

Credence wondered if this was because of today, an extension of the mood it had put Graves in.

“Will you let me teach you to shoot?” He asked, raising a hand to brush Credence’s damp hair out of his face.

“Yeah. Why?”

Graves shrugged. “Might as well.” He picked up the remote, opened the HBO app on the mounted flatscreen. “And I feel obligated to make sure you’re not an undiscovered Annie Oakley.”

Credence smiled, unloaded a finger-gun at the closet with one eye shut.

When Graves kissed him, he closed his eyes and thought of the music, the water stretching out the sound waves into something new as he kissed back. Graves face was scratchier at night, stubble sometimes making Credence’s skin red and chafed, but he liked how it felt. He liked the texture and soft sounds of Grave’s mouth on his neck, pressing little kisses. He liked when Graves kissed him and so long he was incoherent, spoke no other language than touch.

He couldn’t imagine this was what Grindelwald wanted with him. _Looking like you do, you wouldn’t have any trouble finding a replacement_. Credence thought of how he’d touched him, both at the bar and standing on the sidewalk. _Nothing’s decided yet._ The way he seemed to command any space he was in and make Credence feel like a moon in orbit. _You could go either way_.

Credence realized he was getting off thinking about it, about imagining what it would be like to just give in, let this man or any man who wanted him do with him as they pleased like he let Graves. He was getting turned on thinking about the sort of thing a man like him might want to do, and hated himself for it.

With a surge of loyalty he kissed Graves back like it was their first, and when Graves was inside him Credence said his name over and over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> work-related travel, light first-time bondage, and fluff.

When Graves told him he was going to a conference in San Francisco for an entire week Credence’s heart sank. He didn’t like it when Graves was away, even for a night. The bed felt strange and cold alone. He slept downstairs on the couch and watched movies that he’d seen before with Graves, saying the lines he knew by heart under his breath.

Graves broke it to him over dinner, lobster tails and red-centered steak on the table between them. He slid his phone across the black tablecloth and Credence looked at him questioningly.

On the screen was an automated confirmation email from United Airlines… he scrolled with his thumb. A receipt for two tickets. One of them bore his name in clean black font, next to a departure date and time.

He beamed up at Graves. “Really?”  
Graves shrugged, smiling. “If you’ll go.”

Credence handed the phone back. Of course he’d go. He thought he'd probably go with Graves to Antarctica.

“Thank you.”

Graves waved that off. “It’s during your spring break. I found an Airbnb I think you’re going to really like.”

“San Francisco…” Credence mused, his mind supplying him with images from movies and shows, brightly colored houses and the Golden Gate bridge.

“I couldn’t enjoy it without you.” Graves said indulgently. “I’m sorry it’s not Cancun or Aruba.”

Credence snorted derisively. He couldn’t imagine doing the spring break thing with other people his age. Too much sun and booze and chaos. San Francisco with Graves while he was on business would suit him just fine. And Credence had never been west of Buffalo.

***

The spring evenings were chilly on the West Coast. Their rented house had a view of the famous bridge he recognized from movies, a specter that loomed in a thick bank of fog which rolled in from the bay like an otherworldly cloud. The house Graves rented was open and sprawling, laid into the side of a steep white bank. The warm hardwood of the floors and the yellow glow of a dozen little lamps made it feel cozy despite it’s minimalist decor.

Graves was gone a lot during the day, but Credence expected that. He read books from a complete strangers bookshelf. He ventured down wooden stairs to the beach and picked up smooth white stones, felt the salt of the Pacific on his lips and on his fingertips. He rolled up his pants and waded in holding his shoes in his hand, let the frigid water lick his calves. He waited to go into town when Graves was with him.

Graves took him in a rental car over absurdly steep hills to Chinatown with its red lanterns and shop signs in unfamiliar characters, to the Fisherman’s Wharf where they ate shrimp out of paper cones and looked out at Alcatraz, the skies having brightened to a blinding spring blue. In a flamboyant and bright neighborhood Credence had stopped to admire a shop window filled with crystals and stones. Behind glass was a jade dragon the size of a silver-dollar that caught his eye. Graves bought it for him without a word. It was cool and smooth in his fingers. He felt a whimsical attachment to it, a trinket signifying time and place.

Back at the house Graves couldn’t keep his hands off him. Credence was eager for it, feeling more a kept boy than he thought he’d ever felt.

"On the bed.” Graves told him. He climbed onto the bed and lay back on the pillows.

They were in a room not their own, in a strange bed harder than Grave’s. He liked the foreign feeling - a familiar act on a new stage.

“I stopped by a place after the conference,” Graves told him, taking a small black shopping bag out of the closet and setting it on the bed. He sat on the edge, began to unpack it. There was a little gauzy wad of paper on top, which Graves set aside. Credence watched him curiously, the hands he loved so much, the way his forearms flexed under his rolled-up sleeves. He pulled out a little bottle of lubricant, which Credence was already quite familiar with. Next he pulled out a ribbon of red silk, set it down on the bed next to Credence’s feet.

This was not so familiar. It was followed by more, and finally thicker, more pillowy piece of silk that Credence recognized as something that covered the wearer's eyes.

With that revelation the rest clicked into place. They were restraints. Immediately his pulse quickened and he licked his lips, looked at Graves watching him from the edge of the bed. As ever, he was patient and composed, but there was hunger in his eyes that didn't escape Credence’s notice.

“I saw this headboard and got certain ideas.” He told Credence with an almost apologetic shrug. Credence turned his head to notice the sleek white frame behind him, two sturdy posts jutting up against the wall.

“What are you thinking?” Graves asked gently. He laid a hand on Credence’s ankle, rubbed his thumb back and forth.

“You want to....” He felt a nervous thrill saying it out loud. “You wanna tie me up?”

“I want you to want me to tie you up, most importantly.” He smiled and his eyes looked kind, the first thing Credence had fallen in love with. “But yes. I’d like to.”

Credence was nodding, his breath already a little shallower. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Graves repeated, giving his ankle a little shake. “Why don’t you come here first?”

Credence sat up, crawled to the end of the bed. Graves was on him in an instant, sweeping him into his arms and kissing him until he was hot, panting, itching for Graves to pull him out of his clothes. He started to pull his t-shirt from his body and Graves helped him, tossing it to the floor. He lay Credence on his back and kissed him again, hands in his hair. Credence backpedaled up to the top of the bed again and Graves picked up one of the silk ties, fixed the loop around Credence’s left wrist and the other end to the bedpost. He paused to kiss him again with the other tie in his hands.

“If you want to stop or slow down…” He said next to Credence’s thoroughly kissed lips, “If something doesn’t feel good, you tell me.”

Credence nodded. He couldn’t have imagined himself like this before, relinquishing control of a situation when he’d been so used to having so little in the first place. But it was alright with Graves, he thought. It felt good. He held out his other wrist.

Graves tied his other arm above his head so both were completely useless to him.

He stood back for a moment, just looking, a finger rubbing over his lower lip. “God.”

Credence liked how Graves was looking at him like he'd like to devour him. He felt desired. 

Graves picked up the little silk mask. “You want this, too?” He asked, sitting on the side of the bed next to him.

Credence wanted anything Graves would do to him. “Please.”

Graves slipped it over his eyes, securing it behind his head. It was surprisingly effective. His world was dark. Immediately, sound and touch took precedence.

“You look perfect,” Graves soothed, running a hand down Credence’s forearm. “You’re being very good for me.”

 _I haven’t done anything_ , Credence thought. Still, the words both soothed his nerves and excited him. Graves always knew exactly what to say to him. He felt fingers in the band of his underwear, pulling them down so he was naked.

Hands ran lightly back up his thighs, the touch grounding. Graves took his time inching his touch up Credence's body. With his sight taken from him the feeling of those searching, warm hands made every hair on his body raise, every nerve trembling at attention. He made his way to Credence's bare chest, began to play with an exposed nipple lightly. Credence tugged at the ties around his wrists. They were snug. He whimpered at the sensations as Graves began to tease his nipples more deliberately, working the sensitive nubs of flesh between two fingers.

Credence whined and arched his back into the touches, unable to twist away. He squirmed and writhed under the relentless touches, panting as the teasing became too much.

Graves trailed a hand between his legs. It skipped over his pink cock, drooling clear pearls of precum onto his belly and moved instead to dip his fingers in the cleft of his bare ass. Grave's index toyed at his entrance, pressing with just enough pressure to tease him there, too.

His hand retracted and Credence, blind, didn’t know why until he heard the plastic click of a bottle. Grave's hand came back a little slippery. He worked a finger inside Credence with a gentle firmness that Credence’s body knew well. Only he'd never been tied to the bed before...

Graves fingered him, slow and insistent until pleasure began to warm him all the way to his toes. Credence’s breath was shallow and rhythmic and he was unaware of himself as anything but a host for this building feeling in his belly and groin, brought to new heights every time Graves was particularly cruel to his poor nipple. He thought it would go on forever, that Graves patience was stronger than his own capacity to endure these sweet torments, that he would end up begging before long. But he missed the feeling when Graves removed his hand.

Finally, he began to stroke Credence instead.

Credence jumped, crying out at the long awaited touch. Graves added a finger inside him, and the little stretch only added to the feeling of being and filled and prodded and explored. Graves other hand moved in sure strokes on Credence's neglected cock.

Graves made a little noise of approval in the back of his throat, like he liked what he was seeing.

“Talk to me?” Credence whimpered. It was dark behind the blindfold and he was feeling so much at once.

“You alright, baby?” Graves asked.

Credence nodded.

“You feel good?”

He nodded again, mouth open and arching up again into the touch on his dick. “Yes- _oh_.”

“You're so pretty like this. I could play with you all night.”

Credence felt close, squeezed his eyes shut behind the mask and pulled at his restraints pointlessly. Graves slowed down, threw him off. He panted as he felt his orgasm recede - just out of reach.

“Might have to get some clamps to put on you,” Graves was saying, giving Credence the sound of his voice again. “Those little nipples are so sensitive.”

Credence whined at that, imagining how it would feel to have metal affixed there, sending that awful, itching pleasure all through him with no reprieve.

“Maybe a gag, too, so you can’t make so much noise. Then you'll just have to hope I take pity on you.”

Credence felt delirious, wondered how serious he was. The confidential tone of Grave’s voice alone was bringing him close. He dug his heels in the covers.

“ _Please_.” he managed. Graves never changed a thing, just kept touching in exactly the same way, coaxing him toward a level of intolerable pleasure.

Credence cried out, coming helplessly over Grave’s hand. He moaned as Graves stroked him through it, feeling the flat of Grave’s other palm on his hip to settle him as he twitched and shuddered.

The blindfold was removed from his eyes. His pupils contracted in the sudden light, the room too-bright as it came into focus.

“Hi, baby.” Graves smiled at him.

Credence blinked and tried to slow his breathing to normal. He could feel how flushed his face was. Graves reached for the silk ties one at a time, unbound his wrists. Credence’s arms were weak, the pads of his fingers tingling.

“Was that okay?” Graves asked, rubbing Credence's wrists and palms with his thumbs to improve the circulation. 

Credence nodded. “I want to get those things you were talking about.”

Graves laughed. “We can do that.”

Credence wrapped his arms around Grave’s neck, pulled him down to him. Graves went willingly, an arm on either side of Credence to keep his weight off, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you.” 

He tightened his grip around the back of Grave’s neck, wanting to press every inch of himself against him until no part of him was bereft of contact.

“I love you too, Credence.” Graves replied.

The first time Graves had told him he’d loved him, Credence hadn’t said anything back. He froze at the words as if this was the very thing that was going to shatter the illusion, startle him awake from the lovely dream he’d been having. He wanted it fiercely, and was afraid of the wanting.

The following silence had been heavy. Graves had just touched his knee, understanding.

 _Who was the last person to tell him they loved him?_ He’d wondered sincerely, without self-pity or bitterness. The net came up empty.

Graves hadn’t said it again, sensing Credence’s unease. It was a week later that Credence said it himself. He’d had time to process what such words meant, what it meant to be loved and to be allowed to love back. It felt important he say it. Graves had smiled and answered easily, honestly. 

_I love you, too._

**Author's Note:**

> [ come say hi on tumblr! ](http://bastardgirls.tumblr.com/)


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